


A Gentle Nudge

by VincentMeoblinn



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal, Asexual Sherlock, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, M/M, Mild Gore, Multi, Oral, Pansexual Character, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 13:41:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3070292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg’s interest in John get’s renewed when Sherlock scares the living daylights out of him by convincing him John has died. It just might be the nudge he needed to get things started, but how will Sherlock deal?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Gentle Nudge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jaeh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaeh/gifts).



**Come at once if convenient. SH**

**If inconvenient, come anyway. SH**

**What is it this time, Sherlock? GL**

**I believe John may be dead. I’m uncertain as I may be hallucinating. SH**

**OMG did you take somETHING? DID YOU GIVE IT TO HIM?! GL**

**No and no. Just come over and confirm if he’s alive or not. Brace yourself for a foul stench. I’m not sure when he died. If you puke on the floor you’re cleaning it up. SH**

**OMW. Don’t do anything drastic. GL**

**Define drastic? SH**

**Don’t jump off a building or start experimenting on him. GL**

**Your definition of drastic differs from mine, but I will comply. SH**

**XXX**

Greg got there before the medics but quailed against going inside. Part of him knew he needed to be there to reassure and comfort Sherlock, who had just lost his dearest friend, but the other part had already seen Sherlock fake his death and had to live with it for two years. So he followed the medics up instead, swallowing down his horror and bracing himself for the death of a friend.

“What the fuck?!” John gasped, pulling away from them as they tried to take his pulse. Lestrade gaped into the room. John was alive. Sherlock’s fate was undecided at the moment.

“He’s alive,” One of them stated, their tone a bit irritated, “And hung over from the smell of him. Sir, did you throw up? Breathe any in?”

“Not yet,” John threatened, knocking a light out of the woman’s hand, “Piss off!”

“Thank gods,” Lestrade spoke from the doorway. He must have looked awful because John took one look at him and paled.

“Who’s dead?” John asked.

“I thought you were!” Lestrade choked out, “Sherlock texted me saying he thought you were dead and to come over and confirm!”

“Bastard,” John growled, “It’s some experiment of his.”

Sherlock had followed them up, rubbing his hands together anxiously, but now he came in with confidence and a relieved look on his face, “He’s alive? Not rotten and falling apart?”

“What? No!” John spat out, his stomach rolling from all the stress over top of his hangover, “The fuck his going on, Sherlock? Did you give me something?”

“What sort of something?” The medic asked with narrowed eyes. She was in a foul mood for obvious reasons.

“I haven’t given him anything in days,” Sherlock growled, “He’s being dramatic.”

“ _He’s_ being dramatic?!” Lestrade boomed.

“Oh gods, could you keep it down?” John pleaded.

“Not really!” Lestrade snapped, edging on hysterical.

“ _Now_ I’m going to puke,” John decided, and was promptly sick into the bin by his bedside.

An hour later Lestrade had gotten rid of the medics, explaining that they should send the bill to Sherlock, and sat them both down on the couch. John had cleaned up and was nursing a cup of tea as if it were medicine. He looked worse for wear but definitely alive.

“What the hell was this, Sherlock?” Lestrade asked miserably, “Do you have any idea how I… Nevermind. Of course you don’t. Fucking _psychopath_.”

“Ease up,” John sighed, “He’s not acting himself. Sherlock, tell us what happened. From the beginning.”

“I had a nightmare,” Sherlock replied, “I dreamt we were trapped in a cage for weeks, victims of one of Moriarty’s tricks. You kept me sane while I raged in boredom, despite being confined to our prison bunk with a broken leg. Then Lestrade rescued us. Or rather, he rescued _me_. He walked into the prison and let me out, but threw up when he approached you. I told him to stop being dramatic and help me carry you out. He said no, they’d get a body bag; that you might fall apart otherwise. I argued that was ridiculous, that the broken leg wasn’t that bad. He told me you were dead, and that you had been for some time. Then my dream panned out and I could see myself trying to pick you up from the cot you’d been ‘sleeping’ on. You were desiccated. Your head fell off while I argued with Lestrade that you were perfectly fine and to stop being annoying. Then I woke up and panicked. I went to your room, but I couldn’t wake you up.”

“I was hung over and sleep deprived,” John replied, “I pulled a double and then went to a Christmas Party. Although I have to admit I’m still surprised you couldn’t wake me. You’re usually a lot rougher than someone checking for vitals.”

“ _Mumble, mumble, mumble,”_ Sherlock replied.

“What was that?” Lestrade asked while John gave him a pitying look.

“He said he didn’t want my head to fall off,” John replied, “Look, guys. This has been horrifying and all, but I really need sleep.”

“I’ll walk you up to your room,” Lestrade offered when Sherlock seemed too sunk into his own thoughts, “Sherlock’ll be fine.”

“Mm,” Sherlock replied.

“I’m fine too,” John chuckled, “Just hung over.”

“Still,” Lestrade replied, gesturing to the door. John shrugged and Lestrade watched his arse on the way up. The thought of losing John had reawakened his old longing, something he’d put aside when he and John had drifted apart after Sherlock’s ‘death’.

“Night. Or day. Whatever,” John groaned, pausing at the top of the steps with his hand on his door. He yawned and farted loudly, making Lestrade chuckle a bit.

“Nice one.”

“Thanks,” John snorted.

“I’ll catch you later.”

“Mph,” John grunted, shutting the door while scratching at his chest and yawning again.

Lestrade headed out with a sigh. He had to get over this. John was straight. He’d said as much. Often.

“No he isn’t,” Sherlock snorted.

“What?” Lestrade asked.

“You were just musing that John is straight, yes? He isn’t. He’s _not gay_. He’s said that implicitly many times, but _not gay_ is not the same as _straight_. Since John tends to lie by stating slightly warped truths what can we deduce about his sexuality?”

“Ummmm, he’s bisexual?”

“Likely, but also pansexuality is a possibility. Certainly he’s no branch of asexual. The man can’t keep his eyes off of anyone.”

“Anyone?”

“He checks me out regularly. Thankfully I nipped that in the bud early on. He’ll not approach me.”

“Oh,” Lestrade replied a bit miserably.

“Lestrade?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t ask him out,” Sherlock scowled at him, “I don’t want things to get _awkward_.”

“Not a problem,” Lestrade snorted, “I’m too old and busy with work- and _you_ \- to be running around chasing tail. I’m a resigned bachelor now.”

Lestrade left with a frustrated sigh to go home and have a much needed wank.

XXX

John was stretched out on the ambulance stretcher making a right fuss about being checked out, but even Sherlock was insistent that he get looked over. When John kept arguing with them the sight of all that blood on his head got to Lestrade enough that he gripped the man’s hand tightly. John gave him a startled look and laid still long enough for the medic to check him over.

“You don’t need stitches, but you’ll have to come with us to fill out paperwork and have the doctor look you over. They might want to keep you for observation just in case you have a concussion.”

“I do,” John replied, “I’m a doctor. I can take care of myself, even with a bloody concussion.”

“That’s the doctor’s decision.”

“I _am_ a doctor!” John snapped.

“And you lot make the worst patients,” The medic smiled softly, “Let’s just do this by the books, okay? Don’t get me in trouble.”

“Fine,” John sagged miserably.

“I’ll drive behind,” Greg told him comfortingly.

“I’m fine, really,” John insisted.

“I know,” Greg replied with a grin, “It’s what friends do.”

John gave him an odd look and Greg made himself let go of his hand and head out to his car. Donovan had the booking started and Sherlock was too busy worrying over John to drive her crazy, so he gave her his notes and headed off on his way. The hospital stay was surprisingly brief. Once they had Sherlock’s assurance that John would be monitored they let him go and Greg drove them home.

At which point Sherlock promptly sat himself down at his table to work on experiments.

“Sherlock, aren’t you supposed to be watching John?” Greg grilled him.

“I’m fine thanks! Have a good night!” John called, having collapsed into his chair and turned on the telly.

“I’m not going anywhere if he’s not going to look after you!” Greg snapped.

“Good grief!” Sherlock snapped, “Just go find someone to have sex with already!”

“I thought…” Greg asked in confusion.

“Not John,” Sherlock snapped.

“Not John what?” John asked, stepping into the room. His legs were wobbly and Greg stepped forward to catch him, throwing Sherlock an accusing look.

“John?” Sherlock asked, looking worried, “I thought you said you were fine?”

“I _am_ ,” John insisted.

“He’s concussed and _stubborn_ ,” Greg snapped.

“I’ll look after him,” Sherlock sighed, giving his experiment a forlorn look, “Come along John.”

“I’ll…” Greg started.

“No,” Sherlock snapped, glaring at him, “No you will _not_. You’re in deep enough.”

Greg nodded miserably. Sherlock was right. His crush on John was going to throw a wrench in their working relationship if he let it get out of hand. He reminded Sherlock again that he needed to actually _watch_ John and then left with a heavy weight in his gut.

XXX

Texts from John and Sherlock always made Greg tense. In the middle of the night was especially terrifying. He always ended up feeling sick to his stomach as he answered them. Tonight was no different.

**Going to kill him. J**

**What did he do this time and do I need to call anyone in? GL**

**He set my bed on fire. I need out for a night. Can’t sleep on the couch. He’s being a prat and playing his violin off key. J**

**Come on over. GL**

Greg winced. He’d sent it before thinking. John would probably leave without telling Sherlock, but the consulting detective would still know what was going on. Then he’d follow. Then Greg would have a stroppy detective and an angry doctor in his sitting room, arguing it out. Which would invariably lead to Greg fantasizing about one or both of them. Sometimes he fantasized about them having angry sex while he watched. Sometimes Sherlock stormed off and John ranted at him until he got a rage boner and Greg relieved it. Sometimes he got to fuck them both into the ground to ‘punish’ them for being arseholes to each other and keeping him awake at night. There would be spankings involved in that one. Lots of them. And one or both sobbing while sucking off his cock.

Greg shivered and palmed his erection through his trousers. He needed to toss off before John arrived. Greg reached into his sleep pants and started stroking his cock firmly, his hand moving fast over his shaft as he hurriedly chased his release.

A knock at the door interrupted his fantasy of John fisting his cock, and he hurriedly wrapped a housecoat around himself to hurry to the door, keeping his erection carefully hidden. When he opened the door, he couldn’t stop the groan of desire that slipped past his lips. John was standing there looking as if he’d just been ravaged; his hair was tousled, his lips bitten until they were plump and red, and a crease on his cheek showed where he’d had a pillow pressed to the side of his head to try and dull Sherlock’s loud theatrics. His shirt was only half buttoned and he’d not changed into jeans, leaving his sleep pants sliding down his hip to show a hint of never-before-seen flesh.

“You’re early,” Greg croaked.

“I called from your building’s lobby,” John grunted, “Sofa?”

Greg motioned to his den and John staggered to it and collapsed face down. His crack was showing and Greg was halfway across the room before he remembered that it was usually _not_ a good idea to hump someone passed out in your home. Instead he grabbed a blanket of the back of the sofa and draped it over his snoring guest. He wandered back to his room when he heard a sudden shout of alarm and ran back out to his den. John was on the floor looking horrified.

“What happened?” Greg asked.

John pointed to the couch and Greg winced. His dildo was sticking up between two cushions.

“It poked me in the arse!” John squeaked.

 _I’ll never wash it again,_ Greg thought, _Wait, did I even wash it after the last time I… ew._

“Sorry mate,” Greg chuckled awkwardly, “I thought I put that away.”

Greg picked it up and headed to the bathroom with it to wash it before stowing it in the bottom drawer in his nightstand. He returned to the den to apologize again, but John was searching the cushions, making him twice as uncomfortable.

“I swear there’s nothing else in there. I did a count. All my freaky stuff is put away.”

“Sorry. I’m used to Sherlock. Who was the lucky lady?” John laughed, putting the couch back together.

“Ummm,” Greg blushed awkwardly, “I kinda haven’t named my arsehole, but maybe you’d do the honours?”

John’s jaw dropped and Greg slapped himself in the face, “Oh gods. Ignore that. I’m short on sleep and horny as all get out and… bloody hell, I can’t stop my mouth. I’m going to bed. Night.”

John was laughing, hand over mouth in amusement, but Greg didn’t see anything funny about this situation. His arousal was well and truly gone, replaced by embarrassment and regret. He wanted John, but now he was just a joke to him.

XXX

Greg woke to a weight settling on the side of his bed.

“Hey,” John’s sleep-roughened voice reached his ears, “I made tea. Wanted to say I was sorry for invading your home and then laughing at you.”

“Thanks,” Greg grumbled rolling over and accepting the steaming cup, “You don’t need to apologize. I shouldn’t have left my… stuff… lying around.”

“Sherlock,” John grinned.

“Huh?”

“Your arsehole. I thought we could name him ‘Sherlock’. You know, since they’re both arseholes. Then you can say you’ve buggered Sherlock.”

John winked and Greg nearly choked on his tea laughing. The sad part was that his traitorous cock didn’t get the joke. It had perked right up at the idea of anything to do with buggering.

_It’s been too long since I last got laid. What’s it been, years? I need a one-off._

Greg shifted in his bed, his cock aching with need. John shifted closer. Greg swallowed town the last of his tea despite it being hotter than he preferred, and looked away from John as much as possible. John let out a heavy sigh and stood up, heading for the den. Greg heard him mutter something on his way.

“Eh?” Greg asked, “What was that?”

“I said ‘what the fuck is _wrong_ with me’?” John replied, throwing an angry glare over his shoulder.

Greg stood up and followed John’s retreating form into the sitting room, “What do you mean?”

“First Sherlock gives me the brush off, then Anthea, then a whole string of girls I can’t keep interested for more than a few days, and now you? I’ve clearly lost my touch.”

“Yeah, about that,” Greg replied, “It’s not you, mate. Sherlock basically keeps people away from you. I don’t know about Anthea, I think she’s as asexual as Sherlock is, but your girlfriends he chased off. And you kinda let him.”

John sat down on his sofa with a miserable look, “Which brings me back to ‘what the hell is wrong with me’, doesn’t it?”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Greg sighed, “Sherlock’s a brilliant, wonderful, ingenious, arsehole who plagues both our lives. Which only makes us wanting each other more logical, to use one of his terms, because we’re the only ones who will ever get the whole ‘Sherlock called, I have to drop everything and run to his side’ thing.”

“Exactly!” John snapped, “So why are you avoiding this?!”

“Because he told me to, and I always bloody do what he says. He doesn’t want things becoming awkward between us.”

“I think that ship sailed when I sat on your dildo last night.”

Greg snickered, “Yeah, there’s that.”

“So what now?” John asked.

“Now we find out if it will get more or less awkward if we get off together,” Greg replied, leaning forward for a kiss.

John met him halfway, hands going immediately into Greg’s hair. He leaned forward and tipped John backwards, breaking their kiss long enough to let the flushed man shift a leg up on the sofa. When he settled in between his thighs their eyes met with eager grins, the nervousness sifting away in the face of desire. Greg’s morning wood was insistent, not the least bit bothered by the length of their conversation or the shifting moods. Instead he found himself plastered to John’s compact body, groaning as they snogged hungrily, their sleep pants shifting as their hips began to roll.

John was the first to make a move towards tugging their clothes off, his hands sliding into Greg’s sleep pants and cupping his arse. Greg moaned, arching hungrily before pulling away to tug his bottoms down. John eagerly wriggled out of his own, his hard cock bouncing against his belly amidst a nest of blonde curls. Greg gave him a hungry look, trying to decide what he wanted most, but his arousal was so intense that he knew the best thing was to wank to take the edge off. John wasn’t opposed and their hands linked around each other’s cocks, a bit of spit adding to the mix. John moaned and rolled his hips up into their fists as Greg panted against his neck. He leaned down to sloppily kiss along his neck and jaw line, his tongue rough against the younger man’s stubble.

“Fucking love stubble,” Greg growled.

John chuckled a bit, but was panting harder in the next moment, his hips losing rhythm as he neared his peak. He grunted out his release between them and Lestrade quickly scooped it up, using the excuse of stroking the head of John’s twitching cock to gather up his fluids. John gasped and shuddered in obvious pleasure, his eyes falling closed as he went limp beneath Greg. The older man kneeled up, stroking John’s slick against his cock and then urging the satisfied man to continue tossing him off. John gripped him firmly and with three quick tugs Greg was coming onto his torso.

“Mm, fuck,” Greg groaned, watching his come mingle with John’s, “So good.”

“Yeah,” John replied, giving him a lopsided grin, “Is it awkward yet?”

“Nah, just sticky,” Greg chuckled.

“Good,” John replied, tugging him back down for a kiss and smearing their come all over him.

“Agh, gross!”

They both laughed happily before hurrying to the bathroom to wash up.

XXX

“I specifically told you to stay away from John!” Sherlock shouted angrily.

“Piss off,” Greg grunted, stepping into his office, “Did you come here just to complain about me dating your flatmate?”

“No,” Sherlock grouched, arms folded, “I’m bored and John told me to shut up again.”

“I’m his boyfriend, not his mum,” Greg replied, sitting down in his chair and frowning at Sherlock, “Where is he, by the way?”

“I’m his flatmate, not your boyfriend sitter,” Sherlock mocked, sticking out his tongue childishly.

“Look, things aren’t weird. That’s what you were worried about, right? John and I can still work together.”

“Fine,” Sherlock grouched, “I need a case now.”

“I’m flat out, but I’ll check the board and see if anyone else has something.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock replied, his tone portraying more gratitude than he usually did for a response to a case.

Lestrade paused and stared down at Sherlock as he studied the scene out Greg’s office window.

“You’re welcome,” Greg replied, “But I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for John. You drive him crazy.”

“Yes. I know,” Sherlock replied softly, worrying his lip.

“Look,” Greg sighed, “I’ll not take him from you. He’s yours. I get that. We’re just… adding something to the mix.”

“Some solutions would become volatile if the wrong thing were added.”

“I’m pretty damn alkaline, you know?”

Sherlock smirked a bit but didn’t reply, so Greg headed off to find him a case.

XXX

John and Greg had agreed to take turns, but so far John had shown a rather intense longing to have his brains fucked out from the bottom only. Which was why Sherlock found them fucking fast and hard, John on his knees on his bed and moaning like a cock slut while Greg roggered him senseless.

“I need John for an experiment,” Sherlock stated firmly, not bothered by the sight of them fucking like rabbits.

“Yeah, just a tick,” Lestrade panted.

“M’ close,” John groaned, letting his head fall to the bed as he fisted his cock frantically. He was speeding things up for Sherlock. Greg grinned. Anyone else would be offended, but he just took in the opportunity to ogle Sherlock while driving himself into John all the harder.

“That’s disgusting,” Sherlock sneered, “At least be subtle.”

“Wear less tight clothes and I’ll stare less,” Greg grunted, “It’s no different than watching porn.”

John looked over his shoulder with a frown, but came hard the second his eyes landed on Sherlock in his tight suit with the buttons near bursting. John groaned and Lestrade’s orgasm was wrenched from his body by his lover’s clenching arse. He stared down at John’s wriggling body while his come pulsed out into him, moaning in relief.

“John,” Greg groaned as he slid free and watched his come dribble from his lover’s arse.

“Mmm, s’good,” John sighed, flopping down on the bed with and panting a bit.

“John!” Sherlock whined.

“Give him a chance to bask!” Greg snapped in false ire.

Sherlock huffed and headed downstairs, “Hurry up, John!”

“Coming!” John croaked.

“Not with him, you aren’t,” Greg quipped, slapping his arse.

John moaned and shifted a bit, “We need to talk about you spanking me.”

“Into that, are you?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” John sighed happily, rolling over and grinning up at Greg.

“Next time, yeah? The Great Git is calling for you.”

Sherlock took that moment to shout for him again, causing John to chuckle. He cleaned himself up with a handy towel from the hamper and pulled on his boxers, grumbling about his leaking arse as he stomped downstairs in a housecoat. Greg stretched out on John’s bed, grumbling when he accidentally sat on a wet spot, and made himself comfortable to wait for the inevitable return… or hospital visit.

Greg had fallen fast asleep by the time John returned, and judging by how groggy he was it had been a while. John slipped into bed smelling freshly showered and snuggled up to him.

“Love you,” He muttered against Greg’s chin, pressing a kiss to his adam’s apple before nuzzling into his chest.

“You too,” Greg smiled lazily, flopping an arm around him.

John stiffened, “Shit. I didn’t think you were awake.”

“Mm, well I am and I love you too, so it’s no big deal.”

“It’s a big deal for me,” John muttered.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve never been in love before,” John sighed.

“You’ve… what? What did Sherlock _do_ to you?”

John chuckled, “It wasn’t him. I went into the army young and never really dated much due to school and such. I had girlfriends and boyfriends, but it never lasted more than a month or two. I cared a lot for a few of them but…”

“Not like this.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, congrats, you’re one of the few people in life who gets to fall in love and _not_ get their heart broken.”

John chuckled and settled in again, relaxing against Greg as they both drifted off to sleep again.

XXX

“I’m worried,” Sherlock stated, startling John awake.

“Oh gods…” John groaned, rubbing at his face, “Greg, wake up. Sherlock’s feeling _worried_.”

“Is something on fire or producing fumes?” Greg muttered.

“No,” Sherlock replied with a sad sigh.

“Aww, too bad,” John grumbled sarcastically.

“Sarcasm?” Sherlock wondered.

“Sarcasm,” John and Greg agreed.

“So what’s worrying you?” Greg yawned, pushing himself upright. They’d gotten a bigger bed into John’s little room but the DI was hesitant to give up the relative privacy of his own flat. It was only _mostly_ private because Sherlock could easily break in.

“You both are very close now, both physically and emotionally,” Sherlock stated.

“Well, yeah,” John groaned, “But it’s only been a month. No need to panic.”

“What would he panic about?” Greg asked, “Nothing’s changed except now we’re both less stressed.”

“Of course it’s changed!” Sherlock snapped, “Now John constantly takes off to your place!”

“Only when you’re unbearable,” John grumbled, “Which has been a hell of a lot lately.”

“I wouldn’t be so miserable if you were here more often!”

“I would be here more often if you weren’t obnoxious!”

“Enough,” Greg interrupted, “Sherlock, you’re feeling insecure, yeah?”

“No, of course not. I said I’m _worried_ , that’s completely different.”

“What can we do to make you feel better that doesn’t involve you torturing either of us?” Greg asked.

Sherlock was silent a moment, “I want to be a part of this.”

“Huh,” John mused, “You normally have angel wings in this dream.”

“You’re asexual,” Greg frowned, “You don’t want sex.”

“I don’t… _not_ want… sex…” Sherlock stated awkwardly.

“So you _do_ want it?” John worried.

“I just… I want you both to stay in my life,” Sherlock replied petulantly.

“You don’t have to use your body as payment for that,” Greg stated softly.

“Oh gods,” John sat up straighter, “This is from before me, right? You prostituted yourself? To get drugs?”

“Don’t be thick,” Sherlock frowned, “I just tricked people out of them and fenced things.”

“Oh thank goodness,” John sighed in relief.

“Yeah, but back to my point?” Greg reminded.

Sherlock sighed, “I know I don’t have to pay you off to be my friends, but I _don’t want to lose you_. You’re very involved in each other and I imagine you’ll only become more so. I want that.”

“You want emotional involvement or sexual involvement?” John prodded.

“Just… the first,” Sherlock replied, shifting where he sat cross legged on their bed. He reached out and nudged John’s knee where it was covered by the bedclothes, “I want to be a part of how happy you’re becoming.”

Greg and John glanced at each other, “He’s told me several times that sex disgusts him, John. As much as I’d love to get off with him I don’t want him forced into it. Emotionally or otherwise.”

“Me neither,” John replied, “Come here, Sherlock. Lie down with us. You look knackered.”

“I’m not tired,” Sherlock yawned, but crawled up between them anyway.

John and Greg budged over and held hands over the lanky consulting detective’s body. He fell asleep almost instantly, breathing softly against Greg’s collar while John nuzzled into his hair.

“I’m going to wake up _so hard_ ,” John grumbled.

“Me too.”

“I’m topping this time.”

“Perfect,” Greg agreed, “My arse could use a bit more stuffed up it besides Sherlock’s attitude.”

John woke to find Greg standing at the bedside with one leg on his nightstand and a two fingers stuffed up his arse. His cock was hard and leaking, proudly bobbing as he rolled his hips to fuck himself onto his fingers. Sherlock was watching from where he lay curled up in John’s arms. He seemed unaffected but interested on an intellectual level.

“Do you need to leave?” Greg panted when his attention was pulled towards them by John’s shifting.

“No.”

“I’ve got a hard-on pressed against him. He’s clearly not squeamish.”

“Of course not,” Sherlock scowled, “It’s a normal biological reaction.”

“Can I rub against you?” John asked, his cock throbbing painfully.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Sherlock admitted, so John climbed out of the bed and headed for Lestrade.

John stepped up behind him and dumped some lube on his hand. He slicked his aching cock, giving it a squeeze to take the pressure off, and then made sure his fingers were well drenched. With his clean hand he cupped Greg’s arse, rubbing his bum in soothing circles as he pressed a slick digit in beside Greg’s fingers. Greg groaned throatily, shifting in longing as his hips stilled for a moment before taking up his lovely motions once again.

“They’re almost cartoonish,” Sherlock commented, giving his bollocks a poke.

“Leave off and shut up or join in properly,” Greg grumbled.

“Ready?” John asked.

“Yeah,” Greg groaned, pulling his fingers out, “Fuck me hard. I need it.”

“Yeah… remember how I’m short?” John reminded, “You need to either squat down or climb onto the bed.”

Lestrade bent his knee and John whistled at his flexibility, “They don’t call me the silver fox for nothing!”

“Oh fuck, I’m going to come so hard,” John panted, grasping his hip and pushing slowly inside.

They both groaned as John’s cockhead popped through the first ring, John pausing until he could be trusted to move again without spending himself. Once he was fully sheathed he stilled once more, but this time to give Greg time to relax into the intrusion.

“How do you take this so fast?” Greg panted, “It’s been ages since I last bottomed.”

“That’s precisely how,” Sherlock replied, “His body is better trained for penetration than yours is.”

Neither man responded. They were too busy moaning as John slid back out and back in again.

“Oh, tha’s better,” Greg panted.

“Mmm,” John agreed, rubbing his hip supportively.

They found their rhythm after that, gliding in and out at a steady pace with John snapping his hips and rolling them until Greg was gasping in pleasure. He knew precisely how to trigger a man in bed, something rather handy about being a doctor. Greg was soon grunting and pushing back onto John’s cock while he grinned and pounded him freely. Sherlock had sat up fully and was studying them with his head cocked to one side.

“You’re rather good at this, John,” Sherlock observed.

John didn’t spare him air to answer. Greg was tight and sucking him in, his foreskin tugged perfectly as his bollocks slapped the taller man’s in a perfect rhythm. He sped up as he felt his body begin to tense for climax. Greg was groaning in apparent bliss but hadn’t taken himself in hand yet. John gripped his short hair with one hand and pulled him upright a bit so he could reach his cock, taking him easily in hand and stroking him fast.

“Oh fuck!” Greg shouted and came across the duvet with a savage shout. Sherlock inched back but hadn’t been in the spatter zone anyway. Now that Greg was bent over panting for breath, one hand on the nightstand to steady him, John felt free to take his own pleasure as selfishly as he wanted. He sped up to the point of inconsiderate, fucking him rabbit style as he moaned hungrily. His cock was so achingly hard that it was overwhelming his sensibilities.

“Yeah, fuck me John,” Greg snarled.

“I want a kiss,” Sherlock announced out of the blue.

John’s eyes flew open as Greg suddenly stiffened and clenched his arse. What met his eyes was Sherlock with his hands tangled in Greg’s salt and pepper hair as he snogged him senseless. Sherlock’s eyes were shut, giving the man his full attention as he explored him with his tongue. Greg scrambled to grip his shoulders but didn’t know whether or not to push him away or pull him in. John came with a strangled cry, his fingers gripping Greg’s hips tightly as his climax made him dizzy with relief. He slipped free and staggered a few steps before stumbling towards the bed and scrambling up onto it.

“Me,” John panted, “Me next.”

Sherlock released Greg who sank down to his knees with a shocked look on his face, and held up a hand to fend John off when he crawled towards him.

“Not okay, Sherlock,” John panted, “You kissed my boyfriend, why not me?!”

“Your todger is filthy,” Sherlock replied, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

“I’ll keep it away from you.”

“Fair enough,” Sherlock agreed.

John came at him again and this time he let the man cup his hand over his cheek and kiss him slowly and deliberately. Their tongues slid together like silk and when John pulled away Sherlock was smiling softly and staring at him with the most tender look in his eyes he’d ever seen.

“I never thought… Is this possible?” Sherlock wondered, stroking John’s neck with two fingers.

“Yeah. I think. I mean. Greg?”

John half-turned to glance over his shoulder at his lover, who was giving them a wrecked look from the floor.

“Yeah,” Greg nodded, “Yeah it’s possible.”

“Good. You two clean up your orifices and then we’ll lie down again. I’ll be in the middle. Try to sniff me a lot.”

“Sorry?” John asked, staggering upright to go clean up as ordered.

“Studies show that the scent of a lover after orgasm causes increased attachment and feelings of permanence.”

“Right. Sniff you. Got it,” Greg nodded.

They headed downstairs and staggered into the shower rather than doing as Sherlock had ordered.

“Is this okay?” Greg asked, soaping John up and staring intently into his eyes, “It’s a bit complicated.”

“When are our lives ever simple? We revolve around him. I guess it could work. He just wants affection, that’s certainly something we can both give him.”

“Hell yeah, it is,” Greg nodded.

The door banged open and the curtains weren’t far behind.

“Oi!” Greg howled, as the cold air hit him.

“Damn it, Sherlock!” John snapped, far more used to this sort of thing than Greg was.

“You two were supposed to come upstairs and _smell me_!”

“We needed a moment,” Greg replied.

“And you told us to wash up, you sod,” John reminded.

“ _You’re_ the sod, remember?”

“Fine. Berk then.”

“How are we supposed to become _attached_?” Sherlock whinged.

“Just give us a tick and we’ll be out. Then you can have us smell you all you want.”

“The moment will have passed by then!” Sherlock groaned.

“Go on!” John ordered.

Sherlock stomped off in a strop and they cleaned a bit faster, sharing a few fond kisses as they did and whispering reassurance. When they entered the den Sherlock was in full theatrics. Greg didn’t have a housecoat at their place so he was just in a towel.

“Mind if Greg borrows one of your housecoats?” John asked.

“Why would I allow that?” Sherlock snarled, “I’m not a part of your _relationship.”_

“Yeah, you are. Look, we just needed time to process all that. We want this,” John soothed.

“Fine, he can wear my robe. The dirty one.”

“So he can smell you?”

“Obviously.”

“It smells like formadehyde,” John pointed out.

Sherlock sighed, stood, and chucked off the one he was wearing. Greg grinned as he slid it on and then pulled the collar up to his nose to take in a deep breathe.

“Mmm, ode de Sherlock Holmes. You smell good, handsome.”

Sherlock seemed a bit mollified.

“Thanks,” John chuckled, “He usually goes home after showers but we thought it best to stay and chat this out.”

“What’s to chat about,” Sherlock asked, curling into himself on the couch. John joined him and tugged until the prat was against his side. Greg sank down on the other side of him.

“For one, what brought this on? Is it just fear? Or do you care about us?”

“Well I’m _not_ afraid!” Sherlock snapped.

“Okay, so you want what from us?” Greg asked, rubbing his thigh comfortingly, “Love? Friendship? Sex?”

“The first two,” Sherlock nodded.

“We can do that,” John replied, nuzzling the spot beneath his ear that he’d been coveting for years.

“Can you?” Sherlock asked.

“Yeah, and we don’t need to smell your pits to do it,” Greg snickered, kissing his brow, “We already love you, you bastard.”

“Yeah, we do,” John insisted, wrapping his arms around that narrow waist, “No sex is fine. We just want _you_.”

“Just me?” Sherlock asked, “I’m obnoxious. I drive you both spare. Greg is keeping his flat just so you have a place to be that isn’t _here._ ”

“We’ll deal,” Greg smiled, “Sometimes couples… or triples… need time apart. With you not _trying_ to drive us crazy we’ll be less frustrated with you.”

“That’s… acceptable,” Sherlock agreed, sighing and leaning back against John. Greg shifted to put his head in Sherlock’s lap.

“Acceptable,” Greg snickered, “I go from alone and miserable to in a plural relationship with my two best friends. I’d say that’s more than acceptable.”


End file.
